


indirect

by yehetno



Category: My Engineer (TV)
Genre: Flowers, M/M, Sad Vibes, ha oops, my bab, really it's just frong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24234583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehetno/pseuds/yehetno
Summary: it's what you sayandwhat you do.(the thing frong forgot about ivy is that it strangles.)
Relationships: Thara/Frong
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	indirect

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to metaphor city in the quaint province of simile valley. honestly, that is where everything i write lives.
> 
> as a personal note: thara, as a character, radiates the most dork dad energy i've ever seen and I LOVE HIM. 
> 
> it's short, but hey hey hey hey i don't dislike it that much.

Frong fiddles with the ties of his apron and checks his watch.

It is a lie to say that this feeling of giddy nervousness is unfamiliar. Nerves are Frong's old and revered friend, sticking with him through thick and thin. Sometimes, his nerves are loud and consume most of his mental bandwidth, encouraging him to fixate on the worst possible outcome before words have even breached his lips. Sometimes, his nerves are quiet and pleasant and flood his mind with dreamy scenarios so that he can be reminded of what is at stake if he messes up.

He tries to keep his hands busy, but it does nothing to blunt his burgeoning anticipation. 

What will he say today? 

Will he be soft and kind and gentle and welcoming like the ruffled purple petals of an iris in bloom? Will he challenging and stiff and unapproachable like a temperamental orchid? Will he be confident and bright and good-natured like the open face of a sunflower?

He does not know, and he cannot know. Everything goes haywire whenever Thara is around. Nothing comes out the way that he wants it to, but somehow, no matter how sharp his words become, Thara just keeps coming back, unfazed, with an ever-constant smile. 

Thara is not the thorn that Frong initially thought, lodging itself into his soft skin before being stripped away to cause as much damage leaving as coming in. No. Thara is worse, or maybe, Thara is better. Thara is creeping ivy, slowly wrapping himself around Frong's thoughts, growing and multiplying with an increasingly stronger hold.

Naturally, Thara strolls in with a smile brighter than the sun. He must not know any other way of being. Frankly, Frong is surprised that none of the flowers try to face him, unlike Frong, whose gaze cannot help but follow Thara aimlessly stroll through the arrangements and First's potted cultivations.

He shifts in his position and sits upright as his fingers ghost across the keyboard of the computer. He needs to look like he _hasn't_ been waiting for Thara to walk in and offer him sweet replies in response to whatever words, good or bad, come out of Frong's mouth.

Eventually, Thara stops in front of him.

"Jasmine, please," he says with a playful lilt in his voice, as though Frong might refuse his patronage again.

Frong stands wordlessly and briefly dips into the back to pick up the lovingly wrapped bouquets. The cellophane crinkles in his hands, and he must remind himself to school his expression back into neutrality. Today, his nerves have locked around his vocal cords in a vice-like grip, and they tell him to keep his feelings on the inside, shrouded in mystery, for just a little longer. 

He gently places the flowers on the counter, next to the register, and inputs the charge; he hardly has to think at all as he extends his hand, ready to accept Thara's card and swipe its magnetic strip through the reader.

Instead of following the script, the rules, the expectations that Frong has, Thara asks a question: "If I wanted someone to know that I like them, what flower should I give that person?"

Frong feels his heart pinch. He has been too obvious, his gaze has been too soft, his demeanor has been too gooey and kind and full of romantic sighs and shy smiles. This is a message, implicit and gentle yet so sharp and loud and destructive His nerves withdraw and let the cold hands of disappointment take over the reins of his heart.

"Depends on the person," Frong replies quietly.

Thara tries to catch his eye with an open face. He does not notice Frong's heart withering in his chest, mercifully, thankfully, unfortunately. "Flowers have symbolism though."

Frong nods and purses his lips. They do. The language of flowers is complicated and full of double-entendres, of synonyms, of ambiguity. The problem is that when flowers are given, they communicate some kind of caring, and more often than not, the words spoken when they are given provide the appropriate context and can overwrite what each individual bud tries to say.

"Something with roots," Frong decides to tell Thara. "They'll think of you when they have to take care of it."

Thara smiles, though Frong knows that it is not meant for him. Thara is thinking of that someone with a charmed fondness, exhale verging on the edge of a light chuckle. He hands Frong his card and takes his standing order into his arms, "Thank you, Frong."

His register rings at another successful purchase.

"Have a nice day."

He withholds the ' _come_ _again_ '. 

Thara slips out of the shop, and with him, everything holding Frong together falls apart. His shoulders sag, and his customer service mask slips to reveal the slight heartbreak beneath. 

He snaps the rubber band against his wrist, hoping the quick sting will ground him back in reality. 

It should not matter to him. Thara can like whoever he wants. Thara can think about what kinds of flowers to give to _that person_ and wonder if the flowers he chooses reflect his affections accurately. Thara is his own person, has his own life outside of his occasional morning visits to Frong's family's shop, feels romantically for some lucky person out there in the real world.

It should not matter, but it crushes Frong.

He always gets ahead of himself. Maybe, Thara does not discriminate between types of smiles, or his friendly smile is so powerful that Frong couldn't but stumble. Kindness is just that, and perhaps, Frong is so used to being able to turn people off that he leaped to an incorrect conclusion because that is what he wanted it to be. While Frong hoped it had been an undeniable attraction, Thara was just polite.

One day, Frong will learn.

Not today, probably not tomorrow, but one day.

**Author's Note:**

> here's my [tumblr](https://yehetno.tumblr.com), if that's something that interests you?
> 
> catch ya later pal.


End file.
